In this week’s read, we drop into a land of sea and wind, of frost on your blanket when you wake up and, just before the biggest storms,  of Northern Lights.

In other words, Iceland.

The place names in Hannah Kent’s novel, Burial Rites, will twist your tongue and challenge your eyesight. Go ahead and try a couple:

Breidabolstadur.

Geitaskard.

Before our story begins, a grisly double murder shocks these northern farmers. Three people are convicted and sentenced to die. The District Commissioner decrees that Agnes, one of the murderers, will wait out her final days at a local farm. (I think he’s trying to save public monies.)

Imagine yourself as the farmer’s wife. You just learned that a murderess will be boarding at your house for the summer. You might be banging the cupboards shut for a few weeks, just to let the menfolk know how you feel about this assignment. You might also be looking for a secure place to hide the household knives.

Then, when the prisoner arrives, she’s filthy. It’s been months since Agnes’s last bath.

Agnes has asked for a particular young reverend to offer spiritual guidance through her last days. You, the farmer’s wife, and your daughters eavesdrop as much as you dare while the cleaned-up Agnes pours out her story to the preacher. With her quiet manner and her recital of the tangled events that culminated in two deaths, you will soon wonder if Agnes would, or could, do such a thing.

Kent based her story on a real 1828 murder. The “parish archives, censuses [and] local histories” from which she drew her facts might have been dry and illegible, but don’t worry. For you, she crafted it all into a tale with a moody setting, a cast of opinionated neighbors and a riveting plot that keeps you guessing.

Photo on Visualhunt.com